Black Mask (Vol. 22, No. 2 — Mary 1939)

Mr. Lester Barnes,

Clam Shell Hotel,

Laguna Beach, Calif.

Dear Les:

The worst has happened! Remember me telling you about old man Youngblood? He’s the rich old banker who loaned me the five hundred bucks I needed to start my agency three years ago. I told him at that time if he ever needed a detective for anything that he could call on me and that I would do the job free-gratis.

Well, he telephoned from San Diego today and wants me to come down there

right away for something that he wouldn’t discuss over the phone, but you know I’m all tied up here in court on the Jenson case. I can’t get away for ten days, so I’m asking you to postpone your honeymoon for a few days and drive down there to see what he wants.

San Diego is only another seventy miles from where you two are. Tell Mary how it is. She’ll probably be as sore as a strip-tease dancer with a stuck zipper because I’m interrupting your honeymoon, especially since you were only hitched yesterday, but if it wasn’t for the dough Youngblood loaned me you wouldn’t be working now. We can’t let him down. We may need some more dough sometime.

Give Mary my love and get going for San Diego right away. You’ll find Youngblood at his bank. I told him you would handle the case and would be on the job sooner than soon. That should be soon enough. Which is why I’m sending this airmail.

You can pick up with your honeymoon where you leave off after the job is done.

Regretfully,

Jim.

P. S. How do you kids like married life?

Jim Handmore,

Red Star Detective Agency,

San Francisco, Calif.

Dear Jim:

If I’d read your letter before I opened it, I’d have tom it up. How do we like married life? That’s a laugh. Give us a chance! Mary says that Youngblood has his nerve wanting me to come down there. Didn’t you tell him that we just got married?

We were just going to take a swim in the ocean when your letter came, but after Mary read it I got all the water I wanted in the tears Mary cried down my back. She’s all right now, though, and is going to stay here at the Clam Shell while I make a hurried trip to San Diego.

I’d take her with me, but I paid the hotel bill here for two weeks in advance and the hotel won’t kick back with the dough. Some joint, huh? I figure that I can take care of Youngblood in a day or two, at the most. So then I can come back here and really make up to Mary for lost time.

Your faithful employee,

Les.

P. S. I’ll write you from San Diego and let you know what it’s all about.

Dear Jim:

I am writing you from San Diego now as you can probably tell by the fact that I’m using some of Youngblood’s bank stationery. Youngblood is an old crab. Why did you have to borrow money from him in the first place? I told him about Mary waiting for me at Laguna Beach, and he didn’t even hear me.

His daughter, Priscilla, has him sweating under his collar so bad that he doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going. If I had my way about it, he’d be coming and I’d be going back to Mary, but Priscilla wants to marry some sailor on one of the battleships anchored down here in the harbor.

From what I can find out, this gob is an officer or something. At least he’s got a rank in the Navy, but old Crab-face won’t have anything to do with him. Crab-face says the guy’s got a rank all right, but that it smells like rotten barnacles off the bottom of his boat.

I haven’t seen the gob, so how can I tell? Anyway, my job is to drive Priscilla to her aunt’s place in San Francisco. Crab-face is sending her there to get her away from her Barnacle Bill, and he isn’t trusting her to go alone. He’s afraid she’ll elope with Barnacles and maybe raise a family of rowboats.

He says he’s going to break up the romance if he has to do it with an act of Congress getting Barnacles thrown in irons!

I can’t see why he’s so up in arms about it though, because I’ve known some pretty darn decent Navy men. I’m not arguing with Crab-face, though, to let love take its course. I want to get it over with and get back to Mary. Maybe I’ll stop in and see her on my drive to ’Frisco.

If you can’t read this letter, blame it on these damn bank pens. They’re worse than the ones you find in a post-office. I could do better with a paint brush.

Hurriedly,

Les.

P. S. Priscilla just came into the bank with her mother. I guess they aren’t letting the kid out of their sight. She’s some looker too! Priscilla, I mean. Not her mother. I don’t think I’ll stop in to see Mary like I said. You know how jealous she is. If she gets a look at Priscilla, the war would be on. I don’t even think we’d better let Mary know what my job is. I’ll write her and tell her I have to deliver some bonds or something, but I hope this Priscilla dame doesn’t give me any trouble on the trip. She’s got fire in her eyes — and how!

Dearest darling wife:

Gee, Mary, it seems like I’ve been gone from you for a whole year. I can’t wait until I get back to Laguna. Youngblood wants me to take some bonds to San Francisco. He doesn’t want to send them by mail because he is afraid that something might happen to them.

I wanted to fly up, but he wants me to drive it in my car because I have to stop at a ranch near San Bernardino and pick up a mortgage from some guy.

I won’t be able to come back by way of Laguna either because this ranch is near the desert and to come by Laguna would be way out of my way. Not that I wouldn’t drive a thousand miles out of the way to see you, kitten, but I want to get to San Francisco and back to you as soon as possible.

Your loving husband,

Les.

P. S. I know this is a dreadful thing to have to do on our honeymoon, but, baby, it’s better than being on relief.

Jim Handmore,

Red Star Detective Agency,

San Francisco, Calif.

Dear Jim:

Well, here I am — the lonesome bride. I’m writing this letter just to keep my mind occupied because I feel like cutting someone’s throat. Yours would do fine.

I suppose Les wrote you about the bonds. They must be awfully important, but guess who I bumped into here at this Clam Shell Hotel right after Les left? Daisy Brittlenet. Remember her? You should! She’s that redhead you were ga-ga about last summer, but it’s a good thing you broke off with her.

Guess where she’s spending her time down here? At a nudist camp back in the hills on the desert side! Happy Valley Nature Club is the name of the place, and Daisy tried to get me to go over there for a few days while Les is away.

Daisy says it’s very refined and that the desert sun does wonders for you.

Tell Les to hurry back because there’s a good looking life guard on the beach here who is making eyes in my direction. A girl can’t hold out forever.

Love,

Mary.

WESTERN UNION

JIM HANDMORE,

RED STAR DETECTIVE AGENCY,

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA PRISCILLA IS TOO SMART FOR HER OWN GOOD. SHE SHOWED ME A SHORT CUT TO FRISCO VIA THE DESERT. THEN SHE HAD ME STOP AT HAPPY VALLEY JUNCTION FOR LUNCH. NUDIST CAMP HERE. PRISCILLA ON THE INSIDE. I AM ON THE OUTSIDE. PLEASE ADVISE.

LESTER BARNES.

WESTERN UNION

LESTER BARNES,

HAPPY VALLEY JUNCTION, CALIFORNIA

GET HER OUT. KEEP THE MATTER QUIET. REASON WITH HER IF YOU HAVE TO BECOME A TARZAN TO DO IT.

JIM HANDMORE.

Dear Jim:

I hope you appreciate what I’m doing for you and old Crab-face. If you hadn’t saved my life when Rocco Petroni had me in a bad spot, I’d tell you to go to hell and take my job with you. Then I’d still be on the outside of the high board fence that surrounds this nudist camp, but I’m on the inside — outside my clothes! There just wasn’t any other way.

The guy who runs this place is a friend of Priscilla’s. She has been here before, and I can see now that she planned the whole thing ahead of time. What a sucker I am! I should have brought her down with a flying tackle when she bolted away from the car and made for the gate. At the time, I hammered on the gate and yelled, “Come out of there before I come after you.”

She yelled back, “Come in and get me! You’ll have to strip first though because no one with clothes on is allowed in here. That’s a camp rule!”

Well, Jim, I told the guy who runs the camp to open up because I was coming in and that I wasn’t going to strip. He stalled me for about five minutes and then let me inside the gate, but Priscilla wasn’t anywhere in sight. I figured she was in one of the locker houses where you leave your clothes before going into the inner sanctions of the camp proper.

“Listen, mugg,” I told the owner. “I’m responsible for that girl and you’ve got to get her back here with her clothes on.”

Now, Jim. This guy was big enough to be the whole backfield in a football team all by himself. He just smiled and doubled up his fist where it was hooked into the top of the shorts he was wearing. I found out later he just wears the shorts when he answers the gate.

“Priscilla is of age, young man,” he said. “If you want her, get her father to swear out a warrant. It’ll take a court order to get her out of here, unless you want to go see her yourself and try to persuade her to leave by her own free will.”

He grinned and added, “Our rates are six dollars a day for room and board. You leave your clothes over there in the locker house. And don’t start anything rough, or you’ll end up in jail. This is a refined camp catering to only the best people who want to build themselves up with the helpful aid of Mother Nature.”

I went back over to my car and asked the guy in the roadside restaurant about the camp.

He told me there was another gate around at the back of the place and that if I didn’t want Priscilla to get away, I’d better go inside where I could keep an eye on her. So here I am feeling like a ripe tomato blushing all over.

I’m sticking around the locker house because I caught one glimpse of Priscilla down by her tent and know that she isn’t going to leave by the other gate without her clothes. They’re in the locker house because the owner let me take a look for myself.

I haven’t had a talk with Priscilla yet, because I’m waiting until we have dinner tonight. Everyone wears shorts at that time. That’s one camp rule I’m in favor of.

I don’t know whether I’ll be able to persuade her to leave. She’s holding all the aces in the deck and knows it! You better wire her father to come and get her, because I can’t stay here watching her forever.

What will Mary say if she finds out? Good night! You know how jealous she is. She won’t even give me a chance to explain. I’ll be in a divorce court before we’ve even had our honeymoon. That’s why I’m sending this airmail special delivery. Do something — fast! Why did you have to borrow that dough from old Crab-face anyway?

Your worried Tarzan,

Les.

P. S. I’m enclosing a copy of a letter I have written to Mary. The guy at the roadside restaurant is sending it on a bakery truck to San Bernardino to be mailed so Mary won’t get wise by the postmark that I’m at Happy Valley Junction. She might hear about the nudist camp here and begin to get ideas. If Mary writes to you, for the love of mike back up what I’ve written to her.

Dearest darling wife:

I’m in a jam, but don’t worry. You know that rancher I was supposed to pick up the mortgage from? Well, I stopped at his place and had to wait a couple of hours for him to get home from San Bernardino. He’d gone into town for supplies.

Then when he did come and I got the mortgage, my car wouldn’t start. I worked on it the rest of the day trying to find out the trouble because there isn’t a mechanic for miles.

It got dark and I still couldn’t locate the trouble, so the rancher, a guy by the name of Gray, invited me to stay all night. I did just that. And the next morning I found out someone had lifted the bonds I was carrying to Frisco.

It’s all very funny business because I just found out that the ignition wires had been cut on the car. There’s three guys working here on the ranch and one of them looks like an ex-con. I’m just biding my time and waiting for one of them to make a move, then I’ll make a pinch.

Now, don’t worry about it. The rancher is in the know and is going to help me, but if something doesn’t break today or tomorrow, I’ll call in the sheriff from San Bernardino and we’ll work the guys over with a rubber hose. I’d call the sheriff now, but then it would hit the newspapers and old man Youngblood might not like the way I’ve handled his money.

I’ve wired Jim and he says I’m doing the right thing, because Youngblood might have me arrested for the theft, saying I just figured to go south with ’em. If I was in jail, I’d have a fat chance of getting the bonds back.

Love and kisses,

Les.

P. S. Don’t worry. I just saw the guy who looks like an ex-con acting very mysterious. He just went down behind the barn. Maybe he has the bonds ditched there.

Jim Handmore,

Red Star Detective Agency,

San Francisco, Calif.

Dear Jim:

I’m worried about my darling husband. He didn’t give me any address where I can reach him. Do you suppose he’ll get the bonds back? How much are they worth? Aren’t they insured? I can’t figure out how the ex-con could know that Les was carrying the bonds. It’s not like Les to go around advertising the fact.

I feel certain that the rancher is in it too. Maybe Mr. Youngblood framed the whole thing. Suppose he’d been gambling with the bank’s money and decided to cover his losses by sending some phony bonds for Les to have stolen. That way, he could cover up and poor Les will take the rap.

I’m so worried I can’t sleep nights. Please let me hear from you right away.

Anxious,

Mary.

Mrs. Lester Barnes,

Clam Shell Hotel,

Laguna Beach, Calif.

Dear Mary:

Don’t worry. Les know what he’s doing and has all the bare facts right at his fingertips. I’m working on it too from this end checking up on the muggs at the ranch. As soon as this Jenson case is out of court, I’ll hop down there if things aren’t straightened out by then.

Youngblood is above suspicion, and by all means don’t write to him. We don’t want him to know about it if we can help it. I feel certain that the bonds are insured so don’t worry on that score.

Is Daisy Brittlenet still at Laguna? I hope so. That is, I still have a soft spot for her in my heart and would like to see her. If she’s still there, keep her with you until Les gets back and tell her that I will come with him. Maybe I’ll be able to break away from court here sooner than I expected.

Yours,

Jim.

P. S. By all means keep Daisy with you if you can because I’ve been thinking a lot about her since you wrote me that she was there. Tell her to keep away from that nudist camp.

WESTERN UNION

JIM HANDMORE.

RED STAR DETECTIVE AGENCY,

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

TALKED WITH PRISCILLA AT DINNER. SHE REFUSES TO BUDGE. HAVE YOU WIRED HER FATHER?

LESTER BARNES.

WESTERN UNION

LESTER BARNES,

HAPPY VALLEY NUDIST CLUB,

HAPPY VALLEY JUNCTION, CALIFORNIA

HER FATHER MUST NOT KNOW. TRY AND FIGURE A WAY OUT.

JIM HANDMORE.

Dear Jim:

Try and figure a way out! Why do I have to do all the brain work? Right now I know how a hot dog feels, only I’ve got sunburn lotion on instead of mustard. The simplest way out is to notify her father. I suppose I could set the camp on fire and maybe smoke her out, but there’s a hundred other people here besides Priscilla.

I never knew till now how popular a place like this is. Some more people came in last night. Guess who one of them was? Daisy Brittlenet! The redhead you were daffy about. I spotted her when she came in, but she didn’t recognize me without my clothes on. I ducked because I didn’t want her to take a second look. You never can tell when she might run into Mary. That would be all I need to fix things up swell.

A young guy and a fellow who looked like his father came in right after Daisy, so you can see that the camp is doing a rushing business.

I saw Daisy again this morning but she didn’t see me. Boy, I think you were a sucker for giving her up. And I oughta know!

Has Mary written to you? I bet the poor kid is worried stiff about the phony bond story I’ve been telling her. If she ever finds out, well — I hate to think what might happen.

Priscilla is still here. I saw her a few minutes ago talking to the young guy who came in last night. They act like they’ve known each other for a long time. Maybe it’s her Barnacle — Bill. What do I do then if it is? Old Crab-face ought to let love alone and stick to his banking. The way it is now, he’s making four people miserable. Priscilla, Barnacle Bill, Mary and myself. I don’t know about you. You’re probably laughing up your sleeve. Me! I haven’t got a sleeve to laugh up... and couldn’t if I did.

Have you ever been sunburned all over? I put my bed in front of the lockers last night just so Priscilla couldn’t get her clothes and pull a sneak on me, but hell! I couldn’t even stand to have the bed against my back, so I spent part of the night in the creek that runs through the camp, splashing around like a polliwog and cussing Crab-face. The creek was the only way I could get any relief without waking up the camp for some lotion.

I was a sucker for not staying in the shade yesterday, but I was so worried about Mary finding all this out that I didn’t stop to think about the sun.

I’m thinking seriously of packing up and going back to Laguna. Why did you have to stop Rocco Petroni from bumping me? You get all the breaks!

If you haven’t got me out of this mess by tomorrow, I’m walking out. Crab-face or no Crab-face. So get your brain to working in high gear and think of something.

Tired of playing Tarzan,

Les.

WESTERN UNION

MR. JIM HANDMORE,

RED STAR DETECTIVE AGENCY, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

MY SISTER ADVISES THAT PRISCILLA HAS NOT BEEN DELIVERED INTO HER CUSTODY. YOUR MAN SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE THIS MORNING. I AM HOLDING YOU RESPONSIBLE FOR MY DAUGHTER’S SAFE ARRIVAL. PLEASE ADVISE.

O. O. YOUNGBLOOD.

WESTERN UNION

MR. O. O. YOUNGBLOOD, YOUNGBLOOD BANK,

SAN DIEGO, CALIF.

PRISCILLA TRICKED MY MAN. THEY ARE AT HAPPY VALLEY NUDIST CLUB. MY MAN WILL KEEP HER THERE UNTIL YOU ARRIVE.

JIM HANDMORE.

WESTERN UNION

LESTER BARNES,

HAPPY VALLEY NUDIST CLUB, HAPPY VALLEY JUNCTION, CALIFORNIA

CRAB-FACE KNOWS ALL. WAIT FOR HIS ARRIVAL. DO NOT TELL PRISCILLA. YOU CAN LEAVE WHEN SHE IS IN HIS CUSTODY.

JIM HANDMORE.

Dear Jim:

Was I glad to see old Crab-face! He came storming into camp a couple of hours after I got your wire. I met him at the gate. He took one look at my sunburn and bellowed like a wild elephant. For a minute I thought I was Tarzan and looked around expecting to see monkeys swinging in the trees.

Crab-face looked for his daughter. “Where’s my daughter?” He bellowed twice as loud as the first time, then he shook his fist in my face and changed his bellow to a scream. “You’ll make a decent woman of her, young man. You’re going to marry her this morning!”

You see, Crab-face kinda figured the place wasn’t quite as decent as it should be. He didn’t know what a nice place it really is.

“Like hell!” I bellowed back at him. “I’m a married man now! Besides your precious Priscilla married her Barnacle Bill about a half-hour ago!”

Well, you should have seen his crab-face when I told him the bad news, but in a few minutes he thought it was good news. I guess he figured as long as his daughter had a husband that things wouldn’t be so bad.

Remember the young guy that came in with the fellow I thought was his father last night? Well, the old guy wasn’t his father at all. He was a justice of the peace that Barnacle Bill brought along to tie the knot. That’s what happened a little while ago. The young guy was Priscilla’s boy friend. She must have telephoned him to come down to the camp for the wedding.

Anyway, I’m glad it’s all over. Now I can go back to Mary and keep this secret from her the rest of my life — I hope!

My sunburn is a lot better now. The owner of the camp gave me some suntan preparation that he makes himself. It sure took the sting out and I think I’m going to have a nice tan to remember the camp by. Not that I need it. I’ll never be able to forget!

Your relieved Tarzan,

Les.

P. S. Daisy Brittlenet left in a hurry this morning even before the wedding. I was sure glad that she went because I’m pretty certain that she didn’t recognize me and won’t have to worry about her bumping into Mary. Youngblood won’t do any talking either. He’d die if the newspapers ever got wind of what happened. I’m sending a wire to Mary and I’m enclosing a copy of it. Back me up.

WESTERN UNION

MRS. LESTER BARNES,

CLAM SHELL HOTEL,

LAGUNA BEACH, CALIF.

BONDS RECOVERED. FLYING TO FRISCO AND BACK THIS AFTER

NOON IN CHARTERED PLANE. WILL SEE YOU LATE TONIGHT. LOVE.

LES.

WESTERN UNION

JIM HANDMORE,

RED STAR DETECTIVE AGENCY,

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

DAISY BRITTLENET INSISTS SHE SAW LES AT NUDIST CAMP THIS MORNING. WHAT IS HE DOING? I WANT THE TRUTH.

MARY.

WESTERN UNION

MRS. LESTER BARNES,

CLAM SHELL HOTEL,

LAGUNA BEACH, CALIF.

DAISY IS NUTS. ANYONE WHO GOES TO A NUDIST CAMP IS NUTS. SHE SAW SOMEONE ELSE. LES JUST LEFT THE OFFICE HERE TO FLY TO YOU. HAPPY HONEYMOON.

JIM.

Dear Jim:

Well, I’m back with Mary. I’m writing this letter on the sneak. Mary just put me through a third-degree. I had to call Daisy Brittlenet a liar to her face when she insisted that she saw me and no one else! She’s gone back to the nudist camp and I hope she falls into a bunch of cactus.

When I told Mary how I’d nearly lost my life recovering the bonds from the ex-con, she opened up with tears and was sure glad that I was all in one piece. I guess I’m a pretty smooth liar because it looks like a happy honeymoon ahead.

Priscilla and her husband have gone back to San Diego and I hope they stay there. Your telegram telling Mary that Daisy was nuts to go to a nudist camp cinched the argument for me. Mary is positive that Daisy is screwy, but I still think you were a sucker to give her up.

Relieved,

Les.

P. S. Don’t disturb us for the next two weeks.

WESTERN UNION

JIM HANDMORE,

RED STAR DETECTIVE AGENCY,

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

MARY IS WISE. MY COMPLETE TARZAN TAN PUT ME ON THE SPOT TONIGHT. SHE SAID I DIDN’T HAVE IT WHEN I WENT AWAY. I TOLD HER THE TRUTH. DOESN’T BELIEVE ME. DO SOMETHING QUICK. SHE HAS TAKEN ANOTHER ROOM AND KEEPS IT LOCKED.

LES.

Dear Jim:

Thanks for getting Priscilla and her husband to come down here to Laguna. They brought the justice of the peace with them and old Crab-face too.

After the way he explained things to Mary, I guess I was wrong about him. He took all the blame and said that he was an old fool for meddling in affairs of the heart. He’s going to stick to banking and told me if we ever need a loan to let him know.

Mary is happy now, but she told me that if I ever lied to her again it would be Reno for her. She can’t get over the idea of those two kids having a nudist wedding. Mary laughed after they’d gone and cracked, “It’s like peeking at your Christmas presents before Christmas morning,”

Love from us both,

Mary and Les.

P. S. I’m writing a letter of apology to Daisy Brittlenet at the nudist camp. I had to call her a liar at the time and I’m sorry that I hoped she’d fall into a bunch of cactus, but I still think you were a sucker to give her up.

Dear Mary and Les:

I’m glad Mary got down to the bare facts and that everything is O.K. now. Happy honeymoon.

Best,

Jim.

P. S. As soon as I get finished with the Jenson case, I’m going to drop down to the Happy Valley Nudist Club and see Daisy. I always was the sort of a guy who couldn’t wait to open his presents on Christmas morning.